Love's Savage Secret
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!Verse AU. McCoy's hope was that one day Jim would understand the concepts of shame, embarrassment and personal boundaries. This was definitely not to be that day.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Love's Savage Secret

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Beta**: Wicked Jade

**Summary**: Cop!Verse AU. McCoy's hope was that one day Jim would understand the concepts of shame, embarrassment and personal boundaries. This was definitely not to be that day.

**Author's Notes**: This story is what happens when I try to take a break from writing. No, I'm not kidding. I was planning to not write, but instead, I wound up with this. Wicked Jade and I have decided that I don't have plot!tribbles. I have plot!_Gremlins_. Get the adorable little Mogwai wet, and he multiplies. Feed the brood after midnight, and they go from cute and fluffy to rabid, satanic green creatures. This fic? The original idea was supposed to be part of another cop!verse story, so I'm pretty sure someone both fed my Mogwai and dumped a bucket of water over its head at 12.01. Thanks, guys. Aaaanyway, I hope you all enjoy another foray into my insanity. As always, comments are loved but never required.

**Disclaimer**: I own my Kindle and a bunch of free books offered on that platform, but I do not own Star Trek. I do not make any monetary profit from my work, so please don't sue.

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**Chapter 1**

Chris Pike would rue the day Jim Kirk developed the ability to tell his lieutenant 'no'. Kirk was sure of it; in fact, he was so sure, he could _almost_ hear the words coming out of his mouth. He knew exactly how to structure the sentence, and what reasoning he would give for his decline. Pike would undoubtedly be amazed, because shock of all shocks – Jim actually thought it through! It was perfectly choreographed, well planned and logical. All he had left to do was execute the routine.

Kirk went through the same song and dance in his head every single time Pike asked him for a favor. The process each time never changed; he worked up a stellar argument to present to his boss that he thought was bombproof. But as soon as he found himself standing in front of the lieutenant's desk ready for _this_ time to be the time, he chickened out and acquiesced to whatever Pike needed under the guise of _because he was a nice guy._

In his heart, Jim didn't expect this instance to end any differently. Still, that didn't mean Kirk wasn't willing to give the lieutenant a sliver of his mind, brass on the man's shoulders or no.

"Hey, Lieu? Got a minute?" Kirk asked as he stuck half his body through the door of Pike's office.

Behind stacked boxes and a small mountain of file folders three feet high, the shift lieutenant peered at Jim through the tiny alley he'd made with the piles of paperwork heaped on his desk. He blew out a long, exhausted breath while he did his best impression of the Webster's definition of miserable. With his chin pillowed on the open palm of his right hand, Pike didn't even bother making an attempt to look officious. Instead, he replied despondently, "Do I _look_ like I have a minute, Kirk?"

"I could come back," Jim offered, cringing as he motioned towards the door.

"No, no. Get your ass in here. I need a break from this damned paperwork. It multiplies like rabbits do - prolifically," Pike answered, his voice stopping the young man in his tracks. Chris straightened his posture and waved one arm above the boxes, inviting Jim into his office. "Just give me one second to finish this up and I'll be right with you."

Jim let out a little snort, tiptoed into the office and sat down in one of the plush chairs opposite Pike's desk. Off duty and in his street clothes, he slouched gloriously as he waited for the lieutenant to finish scribbling on the open report. Kirk opened and closed his mouth a couple time as he drummed his fingers against the fine wood tabletop. Pike, for his part, tuned out the annoying sound. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Chris snapped the file closed and raised his eyes.

"Now. What can I do for you?" he asked, the words rolling off his lips without effort.

Fidgeting ever so slightly, Jim reached up and rubbed his right ear as he felt his resolve begin to slip. The thought of delicacy in phrasing crossed his mind, but he scratched it off just as quickly as it came. Diving straight in, he inhaled and said, "It's, uh, this extra credit assignment you gave me. It's not that I won't do it, because orders are orders. But with all due respect Lieutenant, I think it's bullshit."

Pike raised an eyebrow as amusement danced through his eyes. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel, Kirk?" Chris replied, laughing lightly.

"I always do." Shifting, Kirk amended as he adopted a less formal tone. "But don't you think it's time for you to punish someone else with this job? We have new FNGs for you to torture, the fact in and of itself that Serdeski breathes qualifies as a offence worthy of discipline, and I just worked my way off Spock's shit list. Bones and I were shot at last week, and I really don't feel like repeating the situation, especially when it's said partner who's probably going to be doing the shooting."

Though he was able to keep his tone neutral and passive, Pike unable to keep the smile from blossoming across his face. Chris leaned back in his chair and chewed gently away at the end of the pen in his left hand. Titling his head to the side, he asked simply, "Afraid, Jim?" after a beat.

"Hell, no!" Kirk replied quickly, quite probably a little _too_ quickly. "I'm a Kirk. I-"

"-Don't believe in no win scenarios. I know. I got it. You're normally my go-to guy for the tough jobs, and as much as it pains me to inflate your ridiculous ego, in almost three years, you haven't failed me yet," Pike finished with his officer, raising his hand in an effort to muzzle Kirk's standard argument. He leaned forward in his chair, interlaced his fingers and titled his chin down, adding, "But still, I can't help but think that you're a little bit nervous about your assignment, at least this time. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, trying to weasel your way out of it."

"I'm not trying to get out of it," Jim mumbled, burying his mouth in his hand.

"Oh, yes you are," the lieutenant replied with an airy chuckle.

Kirk raised his head and glared at Pike. Damn the smug bastard – Jim knew the older man was simply toying with him, and having a hell of a lot of fun while he did it. "Fine," Kirk admitted. "So I'm trying to get out of it. But Spock would be proud of me. I'm doing it because it's logical. Did you hear the voicemail Bones left me after I called to check on him before shift today?"

"No…"

"Well, listen," Jim said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He punched up the voicemail option, put the device on speaker, and dropped it unceremoniously on Pike's desk. The phone spun in a hapless circle while McCoy's familiar grown emanated from the petite speakers. Even the tinny, low-quality audio couldn't disguise the snarky bite in McCoy's voice, nor could it hide that the same voice was also congested, scratchy and downright ornery.

'_Jim, I don't know how to make this any clearer-_' McCoy began before a mighty sneeze overtook his need to personally insult Kirk. _'-but I have Ebola. I am dying. I don't need any mothering and I don't want help. I would, however, like you to fuck. Right. Off_.' Any further verbal tongue-lashing was cut off at the end of the sentence when the sergeant began hacking up his left lung. The coughing fit lasted just shy of fifteen seconds, and by the end, the sound elicited wholehearted cringes from both Kirk and Pike. McCoy cleared his throat to the best of his abilities, cursing when the first thing that exited his throat was a very un-manly squeak. He recovered enough to add, '_You come over here, I kill you. Simple as that. Now leave me alone and let me die in peace_.'

Kirk cringed, hit the 'end' button for his voicemail and pocketed the phone. Looking Pike straight in the eye, he said, "Now do you see? I don't care if I'm going with a peace offering from your wife. If you send me over there, he's going to kill me. My partner will shoot me."

"Actually, Jim, that's why I chose you. I think you're the only person Len might not shoot the moment he sees you."

"Might not? That's really not that reassuring, Lieu," Kirk squeaked.

Pike shrugged. "Rock and a hard place. What are you gonna do?" he said. Chris reached under his desk for the extra plastic container of chicken soup Lynn dropped off at the station earlier in the evening, made specifically for her 'adopted son' McCoy. He handed the neatly wrapped package to Jim and said, "There. Now, get going, Kirk. You've got a delivery to make."

"Why can't Lynn do this?" he questioned, accepting the soup reluctantly. "She made this stuff, and Bones loves her. She should get the _pleasure_ of delivering it."

"Jim, you know she normally would, if she wasn't running around like a headless chicken at the bakery. Uncle Mike's is slammed right now with two weddings, two graduations and a bat mitzvah, all in the next two weeks. Lynn made this for him at 12:30 in the morning; she's that busy. She said she'd stop over and check on him tomorrow morning when she can breathe, but we need a little bit of help. That's where you come in."

Jim sat back and pouted. "I still don't understand why it has to be me you're sacrificing."

Pike rolled his eyes at his normally over-exuberant officer and said, "Just go, will you? Stop being such a sissy and get your ass over there. When he's done swearing at you – or squeaking at you if he's lost his voice – he'll appreciate it. Just trust me, okay?"

"Just trust you? Famous last words," Kirk grumbled, staring at the unassuming homemade pot that was going to lead to his death. He swiped it off the desk, tucked it under his arm and glared at his boss. "Maybe the Ebola will take him out this time."

"Kiiirk," Pike warned, trailing off ominously. "Besides, he's not going to kill you. I promise. I'm talking from personal experience here, because I'm still alive."

"Whatever, Lieu." Jim pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows.

From behind him, Kirk heard the lieutenant call, "Just shoot first, Jim!"

Kirk stutter stepped, stopped and rolled his eyes. Oh, that was great advice. He turned his head and shouted at the top of his lungs over his shoulder, "I'm putting in for hazardous duty pay for this, and you'd better approve it!"

* * *

**Next Up**: Jim and Bones prove that Pike is right about at least _one_ thing: Kirk and McCoy are the most effective old married couple in the entire world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: Holy crap, I'm pretty sure the recent wave of heat and humidity here in Minnesota has melted what little remains of my brain. I forgot to mention this in the notes for chapter one, but the fic's title does come from Bruce Willis' awesome flick RED. If you've seen it, you should all get the reference after this chapter. Hopefully it's as funny to everyone else as it was to me. There is also a little reference to another cop!verse fic of mine, Rule 52, in this chapter. But you don't have to read that one to understand what's going on here. Other than that, this is the meat of the story. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I ken haz a Star Trek? No? Well, I ken haz a Gizmo, then? No? Damn. All right. I don't own anything you see here, other than my crazy ideas. All the world belongs to Paramount and Marvel. I am just borrowing their awesome, and I promise to return everything…at least whole. I make no guarantees on 'in working order', though. ;)

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**Chapter 2**

Soup in hand, Kirk trudged up the stairs towards McCoy's apartment. The drive from the station and then the three-story climb at Bones' apartment building gave him a few extra minutes to think. He used it well, contemplating his life, his accomplishments and most importantly, what he felt like he was leaving unfinished. '_I really should have gone bungee jumping last weekend. That would have been bomb_,' he thought as he took the last few fateful steps towards his partner's front door.

Yeah, important shit like that.

Jim raised his hand to knock on the door, but pulled it down just as quickly. 'Jim Kirk' and 'predictability' did not belong in the same sentence. No, if he was going out, he was going out with a bang. "Go hard or go home," Kirk breathed to himself as he dropped gracefully to one knee in front of his partner's door. He set the load of food next to him and reached deftly into his pocket, setting to work with the practiced ease of familiarity.

Not that he'd done it before (because really, an upstanding man like Jim Kirk would have never broken into his partner's house in order to retrieve documents he'd accidentally left there, and he certainly wouldn't have broken in again to simply 'rearrange' some things just for fun), but Kirk knew that the security on McCoy's door was flimsy at best. Forget the lock-picking kit; all he needed to gain access to Bones' place was a pen, a credit card, and about five seconds worth of time. Bada-bing, bada-boom; wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. With a flick of his wrist, the lock retracted. Jim picked up the soup from the floor, glided easily to his feet and turned the handle.

All joking aside, Kirk really did understand why McCoy was so pissed. While exposure to illness and disease was hardly a rare occurrence in police work, they'd both managed to avoid the nastier ones; MRSA, HIV/AIDS, Hep B and C weren't really at the top of Kirk's list to contract. So when cuffing a drunk and disorderly homeless man meant being bathed in a sea of germs from the man's constant sneezing and coughing, McCoy was less than thrilled. Kirk knew that his partner was only comforted with the notion that Jim would probably be hurling his guts out in twenty-four hours after the same homeless petri dish puked all over Kirk's shoes. But nearly seventy-two hours later, Jim was still the picture of health, and McCoy? Well, Bones was down for the count.

Kirk sidled into the apartment, kicking the door shut gently with the heel of his foot. He set the container of soup on the table next to the door and automatically dropped his keys into the dish sitting on the surface. So far, so good. The living room, situated directly in front of the door, was empty. McCoy's favorite Lay-Z-Boy, the one with the imprints of his ass embedded into the cushion, was unoccupied, the afghan that permanently resided on the furniture neatly folded and resting on the back. To his right, McCoy's kitchen table was unoccupied, as was the kitchen itself. The bathroom light was off, and as his partner's place was a one-bedroom apartment, process of elimination left only one more location to check.

Jim toed off his shoes and picked up Lynn's care package. He waved a hand in front of the threshold of the door to test for any flying bullets. When none came, Kirk stepped through…

…And nearly fell over laughing.

McCoy, the man with an opinion about _everything_, the man who swore in paragraphs without repeating himself, the man who could probably kill a person in forty thousand different ways without leaving a physical mark, was propped up by about eight fluffy pillows in bed and cocooned under six layers of blankets, reading from a Kindle held loosely in his right hand. The absurdity of the sight before him was staggering, and for once, Kirk was without words. It was very peculiar feeling. Bones was looking all…domestic. It just wasn't right.

Jim had to make a concerted effort not to drop the soup.

"You ever heard of knocking, Jim? That would be polite. Nevermind – I'm forgetting who I'm talking to," McCoy said while he slowly lowered the Kindle from his eye level and set it on the bed to his left.

"Hiya, Bones," Kirk said, regaining his hold on the muscles that controlled his mouth. "Feeling any better?"

"No," he answered flatly. "And annoying little children breaking into my home while I'm trying to rest aren't helping matters. I hate you. Have I mentioned that?"

"Once or twice," Kirk replied with a laugh.

McCoy snorted, picking through the veritable avalanche of used Kleenex tissues in his lap until he found the box of fresh ones hiding underneath. Pulling one from the holder, he blew his nose loudly. He folded over the tissue several times and repeated the process until he was happy with the results. Glaring at Kirk through red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, he sniffled loudly and then rasped out, "I thought I told you I'd kill you if you came by."

Kirk shrugged. "I guess it's a good thing for me that you leave your service weapon in your locker at the station then, right?"

"I still have my backup," McCoy answered, though passed through his congested sinuses, it sounded more like, "Ahh still habve my dackup."

To keep from laughing in his partner's face, Jim bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. Only McCoy would attempt to appear somewhat intimidating while he cleared a small river of mucous from his nasal passages. Success on that front, however, was debatable. Kirk took a step forward, the sudden weight of the container in his left hand reminded him why he was there in the first place. "I, uh, brought you some soup. It's from Lynn. You want some now?"

McCoy face contorted into a grimace right before he coughed loudly. He raised a hand and waved towards the kitchen. "I'm not sure it'll stay down. Throw it in the refrigerator, will you?" he asked gruffly.

Jim nodded but narrowed his eyes. His face fell as his observational skills booted his earlier amusement to the back of his brain. Bones asking something nicely (well, as nicely as McCoy was capable of posing a question) would have thrown him a few years earlier. But now, his partner's futile attempts at civility did little to distract Jim. He didn't miss the slight tremor in his friend's hand when he pointed, nor did the harshness of McCoy's breathing escape his prevue. Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and returned the glare, completely ignoring McCoy's request. "You went to see your doctor, right?"

"Of course I did," McCoy replied sharply as he conveniently coughed into the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt.

Kirk felt a pang of sympathy run through his chest. McCoy's cough sounded wet and painful, and like the voicemail he'd left earlier, it was prolonged. But what Jim wasn't able to see over the phone he was seeing now, and he didn't like it. Bones' face went from pale to bright red by the time he was done attempting to rearrange the order of his insides. The coughing fit left Bones breathless and gasping as he struggled to pull in enough air to replace what he'd lost. His face finally faded back to the standard sickly grey, save for two splotches of red on his cheekbones that indicated he was indeed running a fever.

With his lips pursed, Kirk spun wordlessly on his heel and marched into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and shoved the soup container in while he searched for some sort of beverage good for restoring lost electrolytes. Finding nothing, Kirk settled on water, pulling a glass down from the cabinet above the sink as he ran the tap. He filled the glass to the brim, killed the faucet, and made his way back to his partner. "Here," Kirk said, handing the glass to the Bones when he reached the older man.

"Thanks," McCoy said gratefully. He took a couple of small sips and then set the glass on the bedside table and leaned backwards. He let his head sink deeper into the pillows while he swallowed harshly. Closing his eyes, the sergeant announced plainly, "This sucks."

"I'm sure it does," Kirk agreed as he settled at the foot of McCoy's bed, right on the corner. "But I wasn't kidding before. You saw someone for this, right?"

"Yeah. Sort of." McCoy sighed and then started coughing again. Thankfully, it only lasted a second or two. "I went to urgent care."

"Bones…"

"God, you're a pain in the ass. All right, so it's self-diagnosis. But Jim, I don't need a doctor. Dammit, I was going to _be_ a doctor," McCoy proclaimed with as much ferocity he could muster.

Kirk made a little 'tutting' noise as he saw his partner's eyes glaze over, right before Bones blinked hard to clear his vision. Softer, Jim reminded him, "'Almost' only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

"You've been hanging out with Pike too long, picking up his stupid phrases," McCoy muttered while he searched for another tissue.

Kirk nodded. "Probably true. But still, someone has to make sure you're not lying dead in here. I'd hate to have to find a new partner, now that I've gotten used you."

"Is that gratitude?"

"Whatever you want to make it." Jim shrugged. "Now, like the man said in Braveheart, 'Don't change the subject. Just answer the fooking question.' You're miserable. Do I have to drag you to the hospital? You know I will, and there'll be a line of people behind me ready to help me do it."

Bones crossed his arms over his chest, pursed his lips and rasped out, "I'd love to see them try. Bring your posse, Jim."

Kirk rolled his eyes and met McCoy's stare while the older man glared at him for a solid ten seconds. But, the normally piercing expression lacked all of its usual effectiveness. Along with the red rimmed eyes and pale face, McCoy just looked drained, like it was an effort to simply stay awake. Jim shook his head and broke the Mexican stand-off. "Don't make me."

McCoy grumbled unintelligible under his breath one last time before he reached for his phone. Picking it up, he unlocked the screen, dialed the clinic on speaker, and made an appointment. He stabbed the 'end' button with much more force than needed while he tossed the device down hard on the nightstand. "There, mother. Happy?"

"Yep. And Lynn will be, too," Jim replied with an emphatic nod.

At the mention of Lynn Pike's name, McCoy's facial expression softened. He shifted in bed, ducked his chin to hide the smile and said, "Tell her I said 'thanks' for the soup."

"I will. Better yet, you could tell her yourself." He stood from the bed, wandered through the room and began poking through a stack of books sitting on McCoy's dresser. He lifted each one, scanning the back for a synopsis. When he reached the bottom of the stack, Jim stopped. A burned orange book dangled from his fingertips, the shape and position of his hand drawing eerie similarities to the cutouts carved into the front cover. Kirk's eyes darted over the dresser top until a he found what he was searching for – a small rectangular business card emblazoned with the NCIS logo on it. He picked it up and then leaned against the dresser. Holding up his find, Kirk asked, "This is the book you lent Ziva when they were here, didn't you? Talked to her lately?"

"No," McCoy replied flatly, avoiding eye contact.

"Uh, huh," Jim said with a smile, clearly indicating he wasn't at all convinced of the truthfulness of his partner's reply. "I'll bet if I checked your phone's call history, it would tell me a different story."

Wordlessly, McCoy picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and, with a slightly maniacal look on his face, stuck out his tongue licked the screen from top to bottom. He extended his hand with his phone and said, "Here. Go ahead and check."

Kirk recoiled, curling his lip up as he turned his body to the side. His hip bumped the edge of the dresser and he winced as the sharp point hit a sensitive bundle of nerves in his leg. Shaking his head at the proffered germy mess, he said, "No thanks, man. The fever must really be boiling your brain because that was disgusting. You have a screen protector on that thing?"

"Of course I do. I hang around you – it's required equipment," McCoy replied, setting his newly infected phone down beside his body. He pointed one finger at Jim and added, "You didn't get it last winter, and you don't get it now. But I'll say it again for the benefit of the mentally unfit: we're just friends. It is possible for a man and woman to have a platonic relationship, jackass."

"I never said it wasn't, but 'friends' don't share a romantic dinner for two at Ribisi's during one of the worst blizzards we've seen in the past five years. Just sayin'," Kirk replied as he flipped through Dead of Night. He snorted as he skimmed the first few pages of the book. Lifting his head, Jim held up the book in his right hand and fixed his partner with an incredulous gaze. "Are you for real, man? You read this stuff?"

McCoy went suddenly defensive. "Well, why the hell not? What else am I supposed to read? Police procedurals?"

"Well no, but of all the things I thought you'd dig, zombie novels aren't high on my list." Kirk paused, putting on his most serious expression. "Bones, am I going to have to worry about you trying to eat my brain all of a sudden?"

McCoy responded non-verbally by hurling a used tissue at Jim's head.

"I'm not picking that up," Kirk announced, pointing to the tissue lying on the floor. He deftly sidestepped the bacteria-laden projectile as he took two steps towards McCoy's bed. With his palm face-up, he flicked the fingers of his hand a couple of times in unison as he motioned at the Kindle. "Let me see that thing."

"No!" the sergeant replied as his hands moved instinctively towards the e-reader he left lying out in the open on the bed. He snatched the Kindle up in both hands and tucked it protectively under his left hip, further shielding it from Kirk.

"You have something on there you don't want me to see?"

McCoy conveniently ignored Kirk's question. "Jim, everything you touch ends up angry, broken or CS sprayed. I just bought this thing using the money I get paid babysitting you, and I'll be damned if you're going to be the one to break it before I get to enjoy it. So go. Get. Your. Own."

"Bones, we're partners. We don't have any secrets," Kirk said as he tried to steer the conversation back to his original question.

McCoy scoffed loudly. "Are you deaf? I already said this ain't about secrets! This is about the preservation of my personal property and boundaries, something you clearly do not understand. Besides, if you actually looked at something that wasn't porn, your head would probably explode, with all the words and shit overloading your brain."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Kirk sputtered, indignant.

"Let me put it in terms you can understand. You are like the catcher in Major League. Remember? The one who couldn't throw the ball to second base without thinking about Playboy?"

"Baker was two things: one, he was awesome, and two: he was quoting the articles that he read, just like I do!" Kirk fired back, pointing one finger at McCoy's head. "Come on, you can't think I'm that uncultured."

McCoy finally arched one slightly shaggy eyebrow up his forehead. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"After all these years, you should know that it's not an insult."

"That's the part that pisses me off," McCoy mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, what I'm reading is none of your damned business."

"As your partner, yes it is. And since you won't tell me, I'm going to have to guess. So, what is it, Bones? Cookbooks?"

"No," McCoy replied flatly.

Jim looked slightly frightened when he asked almost tentatively, "Please tell me you're not reading Twilight."

"Do I look like the type of guy who would read about sparkling vampires, Kirk? So help me, I will drag myself out of this bed just to kick your ass if you thought for one second-"

Kirk harrumphed and let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank God. Guess I can cross that abomination off my list. I might have had to spearhead another intervention if you'd discovered Meyer and thought she was any good. Okay, final guess: something really cheesy and romantic?"

McCoy's face took on a nice pink hue as he began coughing again in earnest. Through gasps of breath, he managed to growl out, "You're giving me a damned headache. Don't you have someone else to harass?"

Kirk laughed, holding up both hands in front of his chest, palms out. "Okay, okay. Relax, will you? I don't want to have to tell Pike you stroked out over my interrogation of your reading selection." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets of his pants, shifted on one foot and dropped his chin to his chest. He watched as McCoy's eyelids drooped while he bravely fought off sleep. It reminded Kirk why he was there in the first place, and that he should probably make a quick exit. "Look, man. We can discuss your reading habits when you're back on duty. You look beat. I'll jet so you can get some more sleep."

McCoy's yawn was answer enough. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Can I get you anything before I go?" Jim asked, the genuine concern shining through his tone.

A small smile formed at the corners of the sergeant's lips. Shaking his head, he answered, "Nah, I'll be fine."

"All right. Be good, Bones," Kirk said as he spun around to take his leave. He stopped, turned in a slow circle and raised a finger in the air. "But I have to tell you, the criminal element must know you're down for the count. The street's been hopping the past couple of nights."

"Better you than me," McCoy replied with a snort.

"What are you talking about? It's been awesome!"

The sergeant growled. "I am not doing your paperwork when I'm back."

Jim flashed Bones a big smile. "Isn't that what restricted duty is for? Catching up on paperwork?"

Kirk watched as McCoy willed his sluggish brain to pull together a proper insult. But before he could aim and fire, the sergeant's phone, still abandoned on the nightstand, sang out. Electronic turntabled sounds faded into a light mix of horns, maracas, and barely-there snare drum and high-hat cymbals. For a second, Kirk thought he was hearing old school west-coast rap until a language that certainly wasn't English wafted from the speakers. Jim cocked his head to the side and listened to the accented words, especially on the 'kcha', 'szcha' and 'zha' sounds. A light bulb went off in his head – he'd heard this language before, but not from anyone who lived within 3,000 miles of Iowa City.

"Don't even start with me. I'm not in the mood," McCoy warned as he read the expression on Jim's face.

Jim was smug. Oh, he was _so_ going there. "Dude, you are so full of shit. That's a nice ringtone in Hebrew you have there, Bones. Bet I know who it belongs to."

McCoy closed his eyes and shook his head imperceptibly as his phone hit the chorus of the song. He turned his head and glared until the call rolled to voicemail and let out a sigh of relief as the room descended into silence. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a challenging eyebrow. "You were saying?"

"I was saying that you're full of shit. I'm sure Lieu is going to love to hear about this. You know, I think he might have some tips for you on this whole long-distance relationship thing. I think I heard he and Lynn were together while he was on active duty in the Gulf, so he probably knows a few tricks," Kirk helpfully supplied.

"I do _not_ need relationship advice from my former partner, and I don't _want_ relationship advice from my current partner. Besides, the point is moot because Ziva and I are just friends!" McCoy countered.

Jim's face lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. "That's great, but I really don't remember mentioning any specific names here. But now that you've confirmed it…"

The sergeant's face went blank and then contorted up in anger as he realized his gaffe. "You are a miserable bastard. It's not right to interrogate the sick and dying. It's confession by coercion and completely inadmissible."

"So can I talk to her?" Jim asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

"Who?" McCoy half-yelled before mighty sneeze seized control of his body.

Jim wordlessly handed his another tissue. He waited until Bones was done blowing his nose and said, "Ziva! She called, you didn't answer. I figured the polite thing was to call her right back. I'll take one for the team, since you're sick and dying."

The sergeant sniffled loudly and threw the used tissue down in the pile with all the others. He sat back and sent a baleful glare in Jim's direction before he shifted, grabbed the Kindle and handed it over. "I know I'm going to regret this, but here."

Surprised, Kirk nearly fumbled the handoff as McCoy all but shoved the e-reader into his grasp. He looked up, shocked, at his still grumbling partner. "Bones?" he queried, the memory of Ziva's phone call shoved to a back corner of his brain.

"Well, I can't very well embarrass myself any further tonight, seeing how you're hellbent on usin' those interrogation tactics you probably learned from the Hobgoblin," McCoy began, his drawl thickening like molasses on a cold day. "So I'm gonna cut my losses and give you what you wanted. Now go ahead and gloat, and let me die in peace."

Jim watched as McCoy groaned and lowered his head face-first into the pile of pillows off to his side. Kirk scoffed and turned back to the Kindle, firing up the screen to see what Bones was reading when he made his grand entrance. He started at the top of the page, skimming his way through the words in front of him. Kirk cocked his head, started over, and read slower this time in order to process the absolute absurdity Bones willingly put before him.

His partner was reading a romance novel. A cheesy, totally unbelievable, horrible, _ridiculous_ romance novel. Jim fought the grin that was creeping over face, licking his lips to forestall its appearance.

_Settling into her seat, Gabriella couldn't believe the energy buzzing through the room. The catwalk was directly in front of her, and she was bounded on either side by waify, familiar-looking starlets who someone said had been on TV, but didn't seem old enough to be out without parents. Photographers were everywhere firing pictures furiously, though the show was still minutes away. _

_But suddenly the lights changed and the music began to pound, Gabriella looked around excitedly, feeling the energy and excitement of the crowd, but was stunned…_

Jim blinked once, then twice. He stopped, raised an eyebrow and slowly pulled the Kindle down from his face. He tried with every fiber of his being to hold it in, but the laughter bubbling up from his stomach launched a tidal wave of sound from his diaphragm to his throat. Jim howled out loud, doubled over at the waist and tossed the e-reader back at his partner.

"Laugh it up, asshole. Don't mind the nearly dead in the bed in front of you," the sergeant growled out, adding in a cough for dramatic effect.

Kirk wiped a couple of stray tears from the side of his face and stared at McCoy incredulously. He placed his fingertips on his hips while he tried to formulate a sentence that wouldn't sound like an outright insult. "All right, I just have to ask. And don't take this as an insult, because you know I love you, man. But…why? Seriously? Why? I'm starting to question your sanity here!"

"The reality of working with you is that you invite shenanigans into my formerly ordered world. This," he started, waving a hand at the Kindle, "Is what I mock to make myself feel better about my life."

Without missing a beat, Kirk replied, "You don't have an ordered world, Bones. Why try and change it now?"

"Jim, for once in your life, say nothing. I don't want to hear your voice, I don't want to hear you form words with that giant mouth of yours. Just shut up."

"Actually, that's not a problem this time. I'm speechless, man. Really, I am. I just never pictured you reading something so…girly."

"It's not girly," McCoy grumbled. "It's horribly entertaining. Do you realize how stupid these books are? They put you to shame, which is a feat in and of itself."

"Whatever, man," Kirk said, wiping a couple tears of mirth from the corner of his eyes while he waved his right hand through the air. Jim's gaze flicked towards his partner, and with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, "I'm sure hearing about this will make Lieu laugh like hell, though."

McCoy pursed his lips and set his face stony. "Try it, and I guarantee you that you won't like the results. Ziva's a good teacher."

Kirk gulped. "All right. Kidding," he said with trepidation as he raised his hands and took a couple of steps away from McCoy's bed. "This stays between us. Bromance promise."

"Good. Keep it that way. And while you're at it, why don't you march your ass straight outta my house," McCoy fired back. When Jim didn't move any muscles other than his lips to laugh, the sergeant raised his voice and tried again. "That wasn't a suggestion! Out! Now!"

"All right! Going!" Kirk replied, laughing. "Get better quick, partner. You have no idea how unfair it is to you when you're not around to defend yourself when I start telling stories that _aren't_ about what I saw here today."

McCoy's sputtering, coughing reply was cut off by Jim slamming the apartment door.

* * *

**Next Up**: Jim proves just how well he knows his partner in a slightly nefarious, delinquent kind of way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: This little chapter was kind of an afterthought, which is why it's so short and separated from the main bulk that was chapter two. I guess since chapter one was really a teaser, you could call this the other half of the bookend. As for content, I really don't feel like this is a crossover. Though one NCIS character gets a mention here as a direct result of involvement in Rule 52, it's not really significant, so I'm going to call it cop!verse only. However, there is a distinct possibility that there will be a companion NCIS-only story if my muses let me get to it. (But, with the way my muses are, that's a really big 'if'.) Anyway, enjoy the ending of this one! As always, thank you for reading, for the comments, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, sadly. Please don't sue! I do this for fun and I make no money from my writing.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Jim was not familiar with the term, "Curiosity killed the cat."

Because curiosity never killed him.

Well, at least _not yet._

Kirk did acknowledge the small chance that, if caught, he would be murdered, probably in a horrific and public way that would garner approval from half the police department and good chunk of the criminal element. But still, there were just some things that were _worth_ it. He weighed the risk against the reward, factored in his probability of being netted red-handed and decided to go for it. His opposition had neither the awareness nor the skill set necessary to trap him. And besides, when had he been the type to do anything that was safe? Yeah, never. Easy answer.

Operation: Hack McCoy's Email was about to commence.

Ever since Jim was all but booted out the door of his partner's apartment, he wondered why McCoy would willingly confess to reading cheesy romance novels in favor of protecting whatever was on his phone. Kirk understood that being sick did strange things to normally sane people (not that his partner was all there to begin with, but hey, he was trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt), but that kind of action was approaching a new level of ludicrous.

Kirk snagged his laptop off the kitchen table, gently pulling the power cord from the adapter in the computer. He wandered barefoot into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge before he parked himself on the couch in his living room. Firing up the piece of technology, Kirk entered his password and waited for his system to boot up.

Bringing up the Google Mail homepage, he clicked on the 'username' field and stopped. Tapping his fingers against his face, Jim took a sip of his beer and pondered his options. He could do this one of two ways: play the guessing game on McCoy's password, or he could attempt to hack Google's server. A loud yawn that seemed to come from left field gave him sudden answer. Kirk popped in the McCoy's user ID, and with a silent prayer heavenward for both his luck and his safety, entered the password he knew Bones used for just about everything. After a second of processing time, Jim was pleasantly surprised when the system logged him right on.

Making a mental note to talk to McCoy when he was Ebola-free about predicable passwords, Jim licked his lips and began snooping. Part of him felt dirty and guilty about nosing through his partner's personal emails, but the other curious part really didn't give a shit. He scrolled down about half a page until he hit paydirt. When he saw one name in particular, Kirk rubbed his hands together in anticipation, his suspicions confirmed. Clicking on the email, Jim took a swig of his beer and sat back in his chair.

_To: bonesmccoy  
From: mossadninja  
Subject: BRAAIINNSSS!_

* * *

Len,

_Have you murdered Jim yet? If you feel you are nearing that point, please call me. I can be of assistance in order to keep you from getting caught. I have…experience. :)_

_Though you've had the pleasure of meeting a handful of my coworkers, there are several people in this agency whom you have not made acquaintance. Among them is Special Agent Timothy McGee. He is our computer expert extraordinaire, all around smart guy, and absolutely the reason I have not yet injured Tony. I do not wish to set a poor example for our Probie. But that, however, is beside the point._

_While we are very proud of Tim and all he has accomplished at NCIS, what is not advertised is that McGee has gained fame as author Thom E. Gemcity. I do believe you are familiar with Gemcity's work, and it is for that reason I come to you now. _

_I found the attachment rather entertaining and I thought you would, too. I am sending it to you with Tim's blessing in hopes he can secure your help. He is looking for another set of critical eyes, and we thought you would, what is the saying, 'Fit that mold,' yes? Thom Gemcity is branching out from police procedural novels to the ever-popular zombie genre, and McGee would like to borrow your brutal honesty. _

_(Incidentally, I might have also told him that you're a fan of books with gore and brains, so apologies if that was not something you wished to be common knowledge. McGee has sworn an oath of secrecy, however, so that little tidbit is in good hands.)_

_Tim sends his thanks in advance, along with a request that he be allowed to meet you the next time you come to Washington. You have earned his instant adoration, with your ability to ignore Tony and not fear Gibbs. It's almost…cute. But don't tell him I said that. He should fear us. It's only proper. ;)_

_Hope all is well in Iowa City. We need to have lunch again sometime – I have recently discovered some new techniques that could be beneficial to you in order to gain compliance while on the street, and I would love to show you. Whether that compliance is from the people you arrest or your partner, I will let you decide on the proper application of force._

_Always,  
Ziva_

* * *

Jim finished reading the email, and shoulders drooping, fell back against the couch and groaned. He threw one frustrated arm over his face. He wanted to yell out loud, but instead, Kirk settled for a simple agonized groan. "Oh, Bones," he moaned, shaking his head. "We gotta get you laid, buddy."

McCoy, who practically had Ziva David eating from his palm in no time flat upon their initial meeting, was _not_ engaging in a long-distance relationship with the NCIS agent and Mossad assassin. All was not right in the world. Beside the fact that his partner just cost him a C-note, Kirk thought there was something intrinsically wrong with the fact that the two LEOs hadn't hooked up. He thought it was a sure thing after their romantic dinner two at Ribisi's the winter prior, but now he wasn't so sure. Either way, Kirk knew he had to at least attempt to rectify what he saw as a grave injustice.

But, he couldn't do it without help, and Jim knew just the man to call. Resolute, Kirk fished his cell phone from his pocket. He dialed Pike's house, and while he waited for Lynn to find the lieutenant, Jim printed the email and took a couple of screen captures. He closed out of McCoy's email in time for Chris to pick up the phone. "Lieu," he said simply. "Check your email. We have a new mission."

**-FIN-**


End file.
